An Alcoholic by Any Other Name
Author's Note: This is the first time I have ever written a full-length story by any amount of length, and I couldn't resist finishing it once I got the idea to write this one-shot. The story came to me from a typo in someone's story where they published the members of the Black Organization to be named as alcoholics. This little gag was too funny to be passed up, and so I rolled with it and typed up this origin story for Gin and the Black Organization. I will be using the English translation name of Melkior as his starting alias, as that was dropped later on once the manga caught up.
A tall man with piercing eyes calmly walked down a long corridor, hidden behind a fake wall in an office building situated in the heart of the Marunouchi financial district. The office was, of course, a front for various criminal activities; and try as they might, the police were never able to pin any crime on those who worked for this company, if they were even able to discover any crime took place. He was a fierce-looking man, and one might want to stop and stare at his unusually long tresses of silver hair that threatened to reach the floor. Few did, as people associated with him tended to give him a wide berth, as if they were afraid what he might do to them. This wasn't an unreasonable assumption though, as this man had a sinister reputation among the Tokyo Underworld's seamier contacts. Those who knew of him spoke with a whisper, as if afraid that he would suddenly appear behind them with a knife to their throat and an ominous grin on his face. No one even knew his real name, as he regularly changed aliases every few months. Today, he was going by "Melkior," though he expected to be soon finished with the name.
Melkior had been involved with this office for a few months now, blackmailing businessmen who hesitated to acquiesce to the demands of the company, and quietly eliminating those that stubbornly refused. It was good work and paid handsomely, but this man was itching for more… variety. He was tired of dealing with the same corrupt businessmen and the occasional politician who needed financial backing, and hoped that that he would soon find more engaging opportunities that would let him fully demonstrate the skills that had led to him being feared by both capitalists and criminals. His summons came in the form of a cryptic email, sent anonymously through at least five separate servers, which requested him to come to a floor he had rarely visited and enter through a door he never even knew existed.
His musings were interrupted by the sight of a security camera at the end of the corridor, and an advanced biometrics scanner by the side of a heavy metal door. The silver-haired man looked up and glared up at the camera, and a voice projected from hidden speakers. "If you wish to enter, place your hand on the scanner." Melkior did so, and the door opened to reveal an elegant desk, behind which an array of computer monitors displayed all kinds of security feeds. Displayed on these monitors were figures he recognized, while others remained wholly new to him, though he suspected that they were fellow operatives for the company that he had simply never met. To the sides of the desk were bookshelves, filled with journals, binders, and various diskettes that he assumed were filled with financial details and secrets of the highest degree. He himself had handled a few of them, and knew that what was contained on them could destroy businesses if their very existence were known. A pair of grotesque statues situated themselves in the corners of the room, while a liquor cabinet, filled with a substantial and varying amount of alcohol, rested by the wall, and he subtly raised his eyebrows in faint surprise while cautiously entering.
A high-backed chair faced the rows of monitors, and the chair shifted to reveal that it was occupied. Melkior positioned himself over by a wall so as not to leave himself vulnerable to any surprises from behind. "So you must be the elusive boss of this company. I was wondering if I'd ever see you."
When the man seated in the chair spoke, his voice was calm and collected, yet there was a faint hint of baleful excitement within. "I'm glad you finally found me, Melkior. I admire your rise through this company. How long has it been since you started work here? No, don't bother answering that. It matters little compared to your accomplishments. 87 operations, 23 aliases, and 7 countries. Of course, those are just the ones in my private records. I like you. You know how to handle complex operations, and you're not afraid to dirty your hands with blood should the need arise. That shows a real go-getter personality."
Melkior sniffed at hearing that particular phrase. A "go-getter personality?" It was almost amusing to think that a man who had remained hidden in mystery would use such a banal phrase. "Almost," being the operative word. Melkior tried to guess the man's age from his voice, but it was difficult to place. There was an undercurrent of energy that suggested youth, yet the boss must be at least in his 40's if Melkior was correct in his assumption.
"You don't seem all that much to me. Certainly not the mythical leader that the rumors made you out to be."
The voice developed into a curious tone, and the slight rustling of fabric and paper led Melkior to believe that the figure had set down some papers that he had likely been perusing. "Oh? And what rumors have you uncovered?"
Shrugging, Melkior took a moment to reflect on what he had heard and smirked. "Nothing major. Just murmurings of a man at the top, looking to grasp the phoenix's egg of immortality. I dismissed those as mere gibberish. The last ravings of madmen who were useless to this organization."
The boss chuckled at that statement. "Don't sound too demeaning of those remarks. I assure you that they are more rooted in fact than you might believe."
"Perhaps, but I find it hard to believe in the existence of immortality. I have found that a bullet between the eyes or a knife through the spinal column tends to make equivocators out of most believers." He allowed himself a moment of amusement at the memory, and if anyone had been standing next to him, they would have shivered in fear. "I encountered plenty of people who believed that they would live forever, and took great pleasure in ridding them of that foolish delusion."
The man belted out a hearty laugh. "True enough. As you said, that sort of immortality often leads to a fool's death in an unmarked grave, and anyone who says otherwise is a charlatan. Still, I don't appreciate you using up my employees like that. It's too much of a waste! A damn waste!" A fist thudded against the table, and Melkior was able to hear the distinct sound of a glass being disturbed amid the muffled thud. "Does immortality offend you that much?"
It was then that Melkior noticed that the man speaking with him had started to develop a slight slur in his voice.
"I know I'm probably going to regret this question, but have you been drinking?"
"Nonsense. I'm completely one hundred twenty percent sober," the man vehemently responded.
"That's utterly preposterous. Regardless of your stature, count your blessings that I haven't killed you for wasting my energy in coming here. If you don't have anything to say that's worth my time, I'm leaving." He turned his back to depart, and as he did, he muttered one parting shot, "To be perfectly honest, I highly doubt that you're the real boss. You're just a puppet anywa-"
A bullet whizzed by his left cheek, just narrowly avoiding drawing blood. Eyes slightly widening in surprise, Melkior looked up to see the hint of smoke wafting from a muzzle that he had only now noticed as part of a bizarre sculpture he had summarily dismissed. He then realized that the muzzle was, in fact, cleverly disguised as part of the protruding limbs of the sculpture, resting on a rotating base.
The man moved his hand from a console on his chair. "I may, as you say, be slightly inebriated, but that doesn't mean that I can't kill you where you stand without leaving this chair. So, are you finally ready to listen to my offer?"
With the sound of a slight CLINK of a glass, the man continued. "I'm looking to absorb you into an organization that has a reach far greater than this company's. The profits here are lucrative enough, but I'm sure you would agree with me that they are much too limited for a man of your abilities"
"And what manner of position are you offering me?"
"A place by my side as an oversight executive in an organization that rose from the ashes of an empire that this company was founded upon. An organization that hides in the shadows behind every company and police force."
Melkior raised an eyebrow at that statement. "An audacious statement. "I must admit that my curiosity is peaked, but what would lead you to believe that I should follow a man who hides in the shadows and refuses to show his face?"
"I don't recall you objecting before when you signed on to be a member of this company. Perhaps you're correct that I am not to be trusted. Perhaps not. It matters little in the grand scheme. I can promise you that as long as you follow my orders such as I give them, you will find yourself wanting little and will have ample opportunities to savor the perks of being an executive."
Melkior realized, of course, that his employer gave no assurances of not betraying him, but that was to be expected. No one who worked for this company promised anything they couldn't renege and renegotiate on. Such was the way of business, after all. A continuation of this charade could provide him with further answers before he would be convinced that the man's offer was genuine.
It was not as if he believed in this man's ridiculous faith in the power of immortality, but he understood that the rewards would be to his advantage if he continued his work for his mysterious employer. Besides which, If this man could conceal an advanced weapons system inside a sculpture while leaving no part of it visible, he was certainly not a man to be trifled with. Not to mention his employer's files listed operations that were intentionally kept off-the-books. If these records were as extensive as he thought, perhaps it was truly was for the best to agree to his proposal. "And what is this higher purpose you desire?"
"An organization that operates at the highest level of conspiracy, where no one knows all of the faces of each other, and where we can pour all of our cumulative resources into one goal."
Pulling out a pack of cigarettes, Melkior casually extracted one and stuck it between his teeth. Without asking for permission, he flicked open a lighter he kept in his pocket, lit it, and inhaled deeply. The dancing shapes of the wafting cigarette smoke gave him a moment to compose his next thought. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that the current purpose of this organization? We already have ties into every major tech company and currently own over a quarter of the Diet's politicians. If you're suggesting the ability to assistant someone with complete impunity, I could understand this level of secrecy. But as for everything else, there's not much that can be accomplished that this organization isn't already doing."
"But not with style!"
Melkior froze in mid-inhalation, the cigarette precariously dangling from his lips. "… Come again?"
"What do you think makes an organization be remembered by everyone? Is it the name? The people who work for it? No! It's got to have a sense of class all of its own. A visual design that accentuates the appellation." With each declaration, the boss thumped his fist against the table. "And to create that, each member must dress in a style that perfectly befits our sacred name."
Melkor internally groaned. "And what name is that? To be perfectly honest, your entire scheme sounds ludicrous. Are you seriously considering wasting the resources of this company on trivialities such as a… dress code?"
"And why not? What you call a Dress Code, I see a means of identifying ourselves from the lower criminal classes. A way to ensure that every one we do business with recognizes us through our attire." The boss took a moment to compose himself. "And as such, every senior member in our organization dresses in black so that others can refer to us as the Black Organization."
'Refer to'? Am I to understand that this organization's real name is something different?"
"Ah ah ah. That would be telling! "Black Organization" is fine for now. If you want to learn the real name, you will have to earn my trust."
"And by earn your trust, you mean wear black and run around the city killing anyone you deem appropriate."
"Precisely!"
Melkior sighed in frustration. It was difficult to discern solid fact from the boss he had grudgingly accepted earlier. He tried again.
"Let me restate my concern. The whole point of this company is to continue our work without being recognized. Having every executive dressed entirely in black would make us stand out even more." Frowning in contemplation, "While I admit that certain prominent features often work to my advantage in specific cases, I hardly see it necessary to have everyone in our organization to be easily recognizable. If the intelligence agencies and those fools in the police were to become interested in us, it would be… problematic."
"Don't be absurd. Black is quickly becoming the popular color of choice to wear. I'm sure you will fit in nicely with the crowds. You already have made significant progress with your infiltration assignments. I'm sure that we'll find some… select work that will cater to your unique skills. Besides, as added protection, we assign each agent a specific code name."
Melkior reflected upon his proposal. That, at least sounded more reasonable. He had been considering dropping "Melkior" soon, as the name was rapidly approaching the end of its use. "Are you suggesting one for me to adopt?"
The man sitting in the chair shifted again, and Melkior detected suppressed mirth in his voice. "I believe "Gin" would be a perfect name for you. You have the perfect temperament for that particular codename, and then there's your hair."
"What about my hair?"
"Oh, nothing really. Pay it no heed," the man airily responded, waving his hand. The chair swerved enough to reveal a bottle of gin and the edge of a decanter filled with bourbon.
"You have been drinking the entire time we've been having this conversation, haven't you?" This explained quite a bit, though Melkior reflected that these protective methods could be turned to his advantage. After all, it wasn't as if the boss was requiring EVERY member to dress in black and refer to themselves with code names. A sudden thought struck him. Shifting his eyes to the liquor cabinet, "Are you planning on assigning names based on… brands of alcohol?
"And what if I am? There are enough brands out there to make each alias a reflection of the top qualities of my senior agents. I think that it would make for a splendid scheme."
"Hmm, I'd have to think on that." Melkior wasn't fully convinced, but he accepted that the boss's idea would have merits in the long run.
"Does this mean that you have finally accepted my offer?"
"I suppose I have."
"Then I whole-heartedly welcome you to the Black Organization, Gin. Please. Help yourself to a drink to celebrate your ascendancy to a higher order of espionage and subversion."
"Gin" walked over to the cabinet and picked up a glass in a side-cupboard. Pouring himself a shot of gin, he swirled it a moment, then drained the glass.
"Hmmph. You know, this isn't that bad."
The boss only grinned in response.